


A New Addition

by OmeletteAche



Category: North and South - Elizabeth Gaskell, North and South - Elizabeth Gaskell | UK TV
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 09:50:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14913128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OmeletteAche/pseuds/OmeletteAche
Summary: John Thornton finds a kitten.Set a few years after the end of the book, when John and Margaret are married with children.





	A New Addition

After a busy day at work, John Thornton had joined his foreman, Higgins, for supper. After a post-supper brandy, John shook Higgins’ hand and headed home. The winter night was lit by the full moon and the soft lamps shining through the windows of dozens of homes. The air was bitingly cold and snowflakes fell softly to the ground. John drew his coat around him, and quickened his step; despite the warmth the brandy had provided him, it was too chilly to dawdle. 

He was about halfway home, when he heard a soft whining sound. He turned towards the sound, and saw nothing but a dark alleyway. Still curious, he walked up to the alley, peering into the blackness. On the ground he saw a small bundle. On closer inspection, he could see that it was a tiny dark-haired kitten. It was very young, in his estimation, about several weeks old, and scrawny, its fur a matted mess. He bent down, looking at the little creature. Despite its condition, it was beautiful, with large blue eyes and long white whiskers, and when it meowed, it showed off two rows of perfect, tiny, white teeth. John looked up and down the alley. There was no sign of anyone else, nor any sign of a mother cat. The town was full of stray cats that were quite happy to fend for themselves, but this kitten appeared to be abandoned, either by its mother or its owners, and wasn’t old enough to look after itself. He picked it up gently and gave its head a scratch with the pads of his fingers. He noted “it” was a “he”. 

“Hello, little fellow” he said, softly. The kitten merely blinked his huge eyes, looking up at John in curiosity. The snow began to fall more heavily, slowly but persistently carpeting the street. John made a snap decision; the kitten wouldn’t last the night outside in this weather; he would have to take it home, at least for tonight. He unbuttoned his coat, grimacing as a blast of freezing air hit him, and tucked his arm and the kitten into the side of his coat, holding it closed with his other arm. The kitten was complaining loudly now, and wriggled around and nipped at John’s wrist, but he soon realised that being held between a warm body and a warm coat was preferable to a cold alley, and he quietened down, and began to purr softly.  
John reached home, and as soon as he opened the front door, he heard the scampering of his two children, Emmie, 5, and George, 3, down the stairs. Their mother was a few steps behind. 

“Daddy’s home!” yelled Emmie, and then, remembering to use her inside voice, repeated herself in a stage whisper. The two little ones ran up and hugged their father around the legs, which was as high up as they could reach. John greeted them fondly, bending down to kiss the tops of their heads, and ruffling their curls. Margaret came to greet him too, giving him a kiss. 

“I have a confession,” he admitted, looking guiltily at Margaret. 

She cocked an eyebrow, and eyed the bulge in his coat suspiciously. 

“I brought a friend with me tonight.” And with that, he uncovered the tiny cat in the crook of his arm. The little creature’s eyes were wide, trying to take in his new surroundings all at once. 

Margaret let out a gasp and then a giggle. “Oh, John, you had me quite worried. What a sweet little thing.” The children craned their necks trying to see.  
“A kitty!” yelped George.

John sat down so that the children could see the kitten properly. 

“Is it a boy kitty or a girl kitty?” asked Emmie. 

John assured her the kitten was a boy. 

“Can I pet him, daddy?”  
With John's approval, she carefully stroked the furry head and he started meowing again. “Why’s he shouting?”

“He must be asking for dinner.”

“Of course. Poor creature.” Margaret said, and disappeared to the kitchen, reappearing with a saucer full of milk and egg yolk mixture, which she set on the floor. The kitten gratefully lapped it up. 

Hannah came down the stairs to join them, kissing John on the cheek in greeting. “Where does that little mite come from?”

“I found him on Morley street tonight.” 

She smiled wryly. “You’re becoming far too soft, John.” 

“I couldn’t leave him in the cold. He would've died. I think he was abandoned by his owners.”

“I can see why they would,” said Hannah, with a raise of the eyebrows. Margaret gave her an indignant look and Hannah hastily clarified herself. “He’s pure black. Folks round here think they’re unlucky. I don’t take heed of that kind of talk myself, but they say to own a black cat is a curse.”

“Oh, he couldn’t be a curse if he tried! Look at how darling he is!” protested Margaret.

Hannah had to concede the point.

“Can we keep him, Daddy?” asked Emmie, wide eyed, pleading. 

“Ooooh, pleeeease?” George joined his sister in looking as wide eyed and adorable as he could manage. 

John couldn’t help but feel his heart swell, and looked to Margaret to see her reaction. Seeing her smile and give a nod, he grinned. “I can’t make a promise, mind, but if no one comes to claim him, I suppose we could keep him.”

“Hooray! Thank you, Daddy!” cried Emmie, and she and her brother clambered on their father’s lap to shower him with hugs and kisses, despite his laughing protestations. And then, just as quickly, they climbed down again so they could pet the new addition to the family. Hannah couldn’t help smiling at the sight of her grandchildren so delighted.

“I think the little fellow could use a bath. As could you.” said Margaret, pointedly to John, sniffing his coat and mock grimacing. 

John laughed. “True enough. But the cat first.” 

He fetched an iron tub with hot water and Margaret found some soap and a small towel, and they brought them to the fireplace in the living room. “Emma, love, bring the kitten in here so we can wash him,” he called. Emmie, her chubby arms full of cat, waddled into the living room, George trailing behind her. The kitten looked none too pleased with this treatment, but seemed to be bearing it for the time being.

“Now, be careful,” warned John his daughter. “Just lower him in slowly, don’t get his face wet. He might not like it.” In classic cat-fashion, the kitten hated the whole experience. Screeching loudly, he wriggled away, and managed to escape Emmie’s grasp. John, however, was too quick for him, and carefully encased the cat in his two large hands. Little George watched on, giggling. At John’s instruction, the children sudsed up their hands with the soap and water and carefully cleaned the cat, while John held him still, despite the yowling. After rinsing, John covered the now-bedraggled little fur ball with the towel and carried him closer to the fire. He set him down in front of the grate with Emmie, and the little cat instantly curled up in her lap, allowing her to dry him gently with the towel. John sat down on the couch, and watched the scene with pleasure, Margaret tucked up against him. The whole household was quiet, the only sounds the crackling of the fire and the purring of their new family member.

“What should we call him?” Emmie asked her mother.

“John, what do you think of 'Plato'?” asked Margaret, a playful smile on her lips. 

“Plato the cat. Yes, that will do very well.” he said, chuckling. “I think your father would have approved.”


End file.
